“How are you doing?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.
“I’d feel a lot better if you told me the book isn’t shit.”
“It isn’t shit.”
“But…”
He opened the folder and started flipping through the pages. The red marks on the white paper were like a knife against my skin.
“You changed the story?” he asked, his tone absentminded and disinterested. “The street vendor’s son… he forgives Abel?”
I sat up straight in the chair, the leather making me sweat through my t-shirt. “I trashed chapters five through fifteen and started over.”
He lifted his eyes. “Why?”
“Because Abel deserves a happy ending.”
Because I deserved a happy ending.
He exhaled and shut the folder. “The original outline was unique, rich… layered. This is naïve and impractical.”
“Why is it naïve? Because in the end love conquers all?” I asked, hating the impetuous tone of my voice.
“This is only my critique, Wilder.” He sighed. “I don’t know… I liked the idea of Abel finding a new path and not getting bogged down by his past. It’s more realistic, isn’t it? First love never lasts.”
“Is this about the book or about us?”
Anders clenched his jaw. “I think Rohen should shop this story instead of me. He’s new to the agency and could use some experience dealing with publishers.”
“What? Why?” Panic and irritation rooted inside my stomach.
“You know why.” Anders scrubbed his palm down his face. “When we talked on Tuesday, and you told me you were giving Jax another chance… knowing the truth of what happened with you two… as a friend who loves the hell out of you, I can’t sit back and watch him hurt you again.”
“What if I don’t get hurt? What if I actually get to be happy?”
He cringed. “I never made you happy?”
“That’s not what I meant.” I met his eyes. “How many times since we started playing this game have you been the one to break things off?”
“That’s not the point.”
I laughed and he smiled. “Five times…”
“I actually think it was six.”
“That’s right… when you dated that girl from New York. I always forget about her. It’s like I’ve tried to repress a bad memory or something?” I smirked. “See, this proves my point though. I’m your consolation prize and you’re mine. That’s not fair to either of us.”
“And you trust him?” he asked.
“I do, and maybe I’ll regret those words, but I have to at least try.” I took a deep breath. “Please don’t let this Rohen guy, who knows dick about me or this industry, shop this book.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier if—”
“I don’t want easy, Anders. I want my best friend to shop my goddamn book.”
His smile was gradual as he stared at me. “On two conditions…”
“I’m listening.”
“One… you don’t have a meltdown when I tell you Bartley wants you to pick up extra spots on your book tour.”
“When would I have to leave?”
“You’d have to be in Miami on October ninth,” he said.
“That’s only a month away.” The walls seemed to narrow in around me. The heat stifling. A month. I thought I’d have Jax until November. “What if I say no?”
“You can’t,” he said. “It’s in your contract.”
“Fuck. I hate Miami.”
“Well, they love you.” He chuckled. “You sold more print there than any other city nationwide.”
I didn’t have it in me to care. I’d be bouncing around from city to city, while Jax was here, and by the time the tour was over he’d be gone. My hands were sweaty in my lap. He lived in Bell River. His life was in Bell River. A month wasn’t enough time for us to figure out what we wanted, or how this thing we’d impulsively started would work.
Oblivious to my sinking mood, Anders opened his drawer and set a new folder on the table. “Speaking of contracts, I have something for you to consider. It’s a foreign rights’ proposal.”
“What does that mean?” I asked, my head filled with Jax and the sound of a ticking clock.
“I can go over it with you if you want.” He checked his watch. “Let’s meet for dinner in an hour?”
“I can’t,” I said. “I have plans with Jax.”
“I see…” Anders handed me the folder, slipping into his flat, professional, I-don’t-have-time-for-feelings façade he wore so well. “Look over it, let me know if you have any questions.”
I stood, tucking the folder under my arm. “I’ll call you on Monday.”
“Have a good weekend,” he said, his eyes busy with the papers strewn out in front of him.
“You too.” As I opened the door to leave, I paused. “Wait. You said you had two conditions. What was the second one?”
Tapping his finger against the desk, he stared at me. “If he hurts you again and you write about it…” He swallowed, his voice hoarse when he spoke. “Don’t ask me to read it.”
“If that’s what you want.”
“It is.” He exhaled and gave me a small smile. “I’ll talk to you Monday.”
I’d checked the clock about a thousand times since I’d gotten home from my meeting with Anders. Jax had texted me thirty minutes ago to tell me he was on his way over. I figured with rush-hour traffic it would take him longer to get into the city and had made our reservation for dinner accordingly. Tugging on the hem of my shirt, I looked at myself in the mirror one more time.
“What do you think, Gandalf?”
My cat sat on the counter, observing me, his gray tail swishing back and forth. I took that as a sign of approval. I’d chosen to forgo the liner tonight, sticking to a more casual look. The place I’d picked was a laid-back brew pub I’d hoped Jaxon would like. The crowd was chill and progressive and wouldn’t give a shit if two guys were there on a date. At least I hoped they didn’t. I wanted everything to be as smooth and perfect as possible. With my tour dates getting moved up, the time I had with Jax was limited, and I didn’t want to spook him so far back into the closet he’d never come out.
Gandalf stretched and arched his back as I scratched his head. “You get to meet Jax’s new dog tonight. Her name’s Rosie.” I picked up my toothbrush. “Are you excited?” Gandalf hopped off the counter and started eating his food. “I’ll take that as a no…” I laughed. “Hopefully, Rosie doesn’t eat you.”
Right as I finished brushing my teeth the doorbell rang. The butterflies in my stomach stirred as I quickly wiped my mouth, my nerves jittery as I made my way down the stairs. It was absolutely laughable that I was nervous about a date. He’d been in my bed, inside of me, for fuck’s sake, only a few days ago. I crossed the living room, the bell on Gandalf’s collar jingled behind me as I unlatched the lock. When I opened the door, I was hit by his citrus scent.